Fistful of Aliens
by TheGuyWithTheGun
Summary: [EDIT]Three months after the Auriga incident, Newt is getting along well with the crew of the smuggler ship Betty, as well as her daughter the hybrid Queen Amee. But now, a new job has thrust the Aliens back into their lives... follows AU script for Rez


This is an AU sequel to my version of "Alien Resurrection". 20th Century Fox owns most of the characters I use, so that's that.

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Newt awoke with a start, another dream from her haunted past boiling her half-Alien subconscious.

Her gray, uniform tank-top was soaked through with sweat, evidence that the nightmare had been rather distressing. She sighed, swung her legs over the side of the bunk. Her sheets were tangled in her legs.

She wondered briefly if the Aliens ever dreamt.

Did they even sleep?

Newt stood, pulled her jacket on over her tank-top.

The ship was rather humid, but the jacket was better than wearing that tank-top. Especially with Johner around.

She walked over to her sink, splashed her face with some stale, recycled water. It helped, but just a little bit. Her Alien physiology didn't allow her much comfort, but she'd learned to live with that.

She dried her face, exited her quarters.

Outside her room was the _Betty_'s recreational chamber. It wasn't much, but it had a few arcade games, a weight machine, and a couch that sat in front of a large-screened viewpad.

The couch was currently occupied by Johner, who was watching a shopping channel program on the Cortex. Deep scars were visible beneath his buzz-cut hair.

With the stealth of an Alien, Newt snuck past the big man on the couch. Just before Newt reached the exit, Johner suddenly said,

"Hey, Newt. You got a few creds I could borrow?"

Newt sighed.

_Eyes in the back of his ugly, scarred head_, she thought.

She looked at the viewpad, which currently displayed an antique pump-action shotgun. It reminded her of the one Hicks used to carry, until it was destroyed by an Alien's blood. She didn't need another reminder of her long-dead guardian.

"No, Johner. I don't have any money."

Johner grumbled, turned back to his program.

"How about feeding your habit with someone else's hard-earned cash? Namely yours. That is, if you _had_ any."

"Moonshine don't make itself, Newt."

Newt turned to walk away.

"Hey, I got an idea; how 'bout we sell Call? Then we'd never need money!" Said the ugly mercenary.

Newt turned back with a scowl. She could imagine Johner's wide, ugly smirk marring his face.

She turned, palmed a basketball, and casually chucked it at the base of the big man's skull.

He yelled, rubbed the back of his head. He directed a steady stream of curses and expletives toward Newt as she casually strode out of the rec room.

She hoped he got whiplash.

Newt walked through the corridor, wondering what their current heading was. She knew the person to ask was Elgyn, but he and Hillard were currently in the cockpit. His excuse was that they were piloting the ship, but Newt knew that that only took Hillard to accomplish.

They were probably having a big make-out session about now.

She approached one room, a chamber that was slightly bigger than the rest of the crew quarters. The room was open, and Vriess sat in his wheelchair by his desk. He was working n some sort of arm-mounted weapon holder, probably based on the ones St Just employed. Although instead of pistols, these sported lever-action shotguns.

They looked rather impressive.

"Hey, Vriess."

Vriess looked up, saw Newt standing in his door.

"Hey, Rip. What's up?"

"I was just looking for Amee. Have you seen her?"

"Last I saw, she was in the galley with Call. She was teaching her to read, I think."

Newt knew Call. That sounded just like her.

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In the galley, a plate of cookies lay half eaten on the table. They weren't real chocolate, but they were the best artificial ones money could buy.

At the table sat Call and Amee.

Call was holding an old, leather-bound book open on the table.

Amee sat next to her. Amee wasn't exactly what we would call "human". In fact, she was rather Alien in appearance. Dressed in a modified grey flight-suit, Amee was a genetically-altered Queen Alien. She had some human features, namely her head, though she did sport a distinctive (albeit very small) "Queen-crown". She was also only about five foot six. She sat on the bench, one clawed hand atop her pregnant belly.

On the other end of the room, DiStephano was field-stripping a Burner. Lowenthal, sitting next to him, did the same. They were the only surviving Marines from the Auriga massacre.

"Now what does this say," said Call, pointing to a passage in the book.

Amee leaned over, read the words.

"'You were dreaming I expect, Mr. Frodo,'" read the Queen, speaking in perfect English.

"Very good, Amee," said Call, "you can have another cookie now."

Amee reached over, grabbed a cookie from the plate. She chewed it with a small squeal of pleasure.

Newt entered from the metal staircase leading from A-deck.

Call and Amee looked up from their study.

"Hey, Newt," said Call.

"Mommy!" Amee smiled.

"Hey, guys," Newt returned, "DiStephano. Lowenthal."

DiStephano briefly looked up from his work, acknowledged Newt's presence with a brief nod. Lowenthal didn't even notice her.

"How're things going?"

"Very good," said Call, "Amee's very motivated."

"I just like cookies," said Amee.

"Who doesn't?" said Newt, "Call, do you have any idea where we're going?"

"Not rightly sure, but I think we've been contacted on a smuggling job, something to do with live cargo."

Newt cocked an eyebrow.

"Live cargo?"

"Hey, you never know. It could be cattle, beagles, parakeets..."

"...people with cookies..."

"...or maybe a load of cryotubes," said Newt.

Call gave Newt a dirty look.

"Newt, there's been no sign of any Alien activity for months -- "

Newt and Amee cleared their throats.

" -- no _hostile_ Alien activity for three months."

"Yeah. And there was about a 200-year lull between Fiorina and now. Everyone thought they were dead, and they were. Now look where we are."

"And logic would dictate that they won't resurface in you lifetime."

"I am about 280 years old."

"Correction, you're about _ten months_ old," Call pointed out, "_Newt Jorden_ would have been 280 by now."

"Yeah, thanks for opening that festering wound again. Wanna pour some lemon juice on it now?"

"Sorry. I'm just saying; the chances of the Aliens resurfacing any time soon are a million to one."

"We've got all the Aliens we need right here," said Amee happily.

Newt smiled at her un-Alien-like optimism.

"Yeah, Amee," Said Newt.

"Alright, people," Elgyn's voice came over the PA, "we're docking in ten. Meaning you got five to prep and suit up."

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"I hate these friggin' clandestine deals," Johner said, strapping a large thermos to his leg, "always gotta hide the weapons."

All of them were now standing (Vriess was sitting) in the cargo bay, except for Hillard, who was docking the boat with that of their client (and, of course, Amee wasn't there).

"Be thankful you're seeing action at all," said Vriess.

"Yeah. If you can even call it 'action'."

"You're getting paid," said Call, "be happy about that."

"Shuddup," said Elgyn, "You're lucky you're even still flyin' with me. If I had half a brain I'd dump you all in the black. 'specially Amee."

_What a pleasant thought_, Newt said to herself.

With a hiss of pressurized air, the _Betty_ docked with the larger ship. The huge bulkhead doors opened, and several men waited on the other side, several metal crates between them. There were eight men in all.

"Captain Elgyn is which?" said one man. He seemed to be in charge.

Elgyn stepped forward.

"I'm the captain of this vessel. You must be Kevin Renfield."

"The same," Renfield returned.

Elgyn approached the crates, while the others stayed alert, ready to reach for their weapons.

"What're we haulin' here, Renfield?"

"I never bother to ask. And I'm not the snoopy sort."

Renfield smiled.

"We're just middlemen here, Elgyn. It's not really our business."

Elgyn smiled.

"I promise I'll keep my nose where it belongs," he gestured to the others, "let's get this stuff loaded."

Newt and Call subsequently strapped themselves into two P2000 loaders. They were much more sophisticated than the ones Newt remembered, but she knew how they handled; Ripley had shown her. They loaded the crates so that they were neatly stacked within the _Betty_'s hold.

"Nice doin' business with you," Elgyn said to Renfield as the door closed.

The ship shuddered slightly as the _Betty_ separated from the other ship.

"We're blackborne, cap'n," came Hillard's voice over the PA.

"Good," said Elgyn, "time for the middlemen to get some info."

He and Johner walked over to the nearest crate, slid the panel off slowly. They tossed it aside.

Within the crate was a cryo-tube, its occupant sleeping peacefully, dreaming the dreams of hypersleep.

"Great..." Vriess intoned.

"Told you so," said Newt to Call.


End file.
